The Conversation
by J0ekerr
Summary: Two friends debate about the changing of the times.


'The times, they're a-changing.'

'That's a damn good song.'

'And adequate in this case. When do you think it all started?'

'Hard to say. I think it might have been when Skeevers decided to rat out everybody. Then when our good old pal, detective Flass got it into his thick head that he wasn't going down alone. That's probably when the hammer fell.'

'Ah yes, Skeevers, that two bit pimp and pusher snitch. Funny thing though, he knew what would happen to him, but he still went and did it anyway. Hell, he barely survived that poisoning attempt but he still told the attorney everything.'

'Yeah, no one expected that.'

'No, no one, least of all Loeb. I hear the commish... sorry, former commissioner of police is in deep shit these days. What with Flass' little notebook full of dirty details. How are things looking for him?'

'Grim, he's got a ton of connections and a lot of political muscle, but he might not manage to walk away like he thought at first. What with Dent uncovering a new scandal every odd day, Flass or no Flass.'

'Yes, that's puzzling, where is our gallant and brand new district attorney getting all his info from? And for that matter, how did he ever get promoted from _assistant_ district attorney?' he paused for a moment, considering his own question. 'Only a hard case like Dent would have dared to go after Loeb. I mean, you know who that leads to, of course?'

'The Roman.'

'Indeed, Mr. Falcone is not happy, not happy at all. In fact he's even more **not** happy after the three hit men he sent after Dent failed so miserably. You heard about the last one?'

'I did, that's the one that tried to get Dent by posing as a patrolman. Turned up in Falcone's front lawn, naked and gagged, his uniform gone except for the nightstick, which had been shoved up a very uncomfortable place.'

'I hear the poor bastard needed surgery to get it out. But you got it wrong, it started way before that. It started when he showed up.'

'He?'

'You know whom I mean. Captain Gordon's new best friend. The one he's put that ridiculous searchlight on the precinct's rooftop for.'

'Ah, yeah him, you're probably right.'

'Of course I am. I mean, before he arrived, we all knew where we stood. You guys took your cut, we dealt our business in peace, no one got hurt, aside from the occasional idiot who had to be taught a lesson. Things might not have been perfect but they worked and we all respected each other. Now every time Gordon switches on that damn searchlight, everybody starts running around like headless chickens scared enough to piss their own pants. Our guys on the streets are even afraid to go out to do their job, in case he shows up.'

'Maybe they should switch jobs then.'

'Some already tried, you remember Dooley? Nice guy, smart, smooth talker, used to rake in the dough, one of my best pushers. Well one day he just shows up and says he wants out, says it's become too dangerous and he's going to get a honest job. So I had to make an example of the guy of course. Such a pity, I actually liked him. But even with that, I get people still trying to weasel out.'

'Was that the body we fished out of the river two weeks ago?'

'I guess, it was around that time after all. But you didn't come here to hear me rant about how everything's going down the drain. So what brings you here?'

'Actually it's somewhat related to that. I wanted to tell you to stop selling.'

'What? You're kidding. What's Mr. Falcone got to say about this?'

'Nothing, the Roman doesn't know, because he's got problems of his own. He's being hit harder than anyone. Not only is that masked maniac targeting every single one of his operators. Word is out that Dent's got dirt on judges Infantino and Rucka. And just last week he was talking to senator Moench. All of them Falcone's men. Falcone's hurting and Dent can smell the blood in the water. And that's without even mentioning the freaks coming out of the woodwork, just for shit and giggles.'

'Oh yeah, the clown, that made it all over the news. He was the one gunning down the Roman's guys until he switched targets. How many of your guys did you lose in the crossfire before the caped freak took him down?'

'Eleven.'

'Quite a scary psycho, I hear that's not make up he wears.'

'It isn't.'

'Did you get a good look at him?'

'I did, and that was one look too many.'

'Why is he still alive then?'

'Gordon wouldn't let us, that's why we shipped him off to Arkham.'

'Yes, that's the problem you see? Gordon, he's almost as bad as that guy jumping off rooftops. We should get rid of him.'

'Good luck with that. They've already tried and failed, and it only made him mad. Anyway I've already said what I came here for. Consider yourself warned.'

'You're warning me?'

'You said it before, times are a-changing. Gordon's cleaning up house, Dent's taking down the top players and Falcone's losing his grip on the city. You either lay low and scurry somewhere under the woodwork. Or we'll take you down.'

'That sounds like a threat. I don't like threats.'

'Consider it whatever you like. I just came to warn you, since we've known each other for nearly 10 years.'

'A partnership which has been very profitable for you.'

'Yes, and it has made it near impossible to look myself in the mirror for the past ten years.'

'You really mean it don't you? You're trying to turn over a new leaf. Just like Dooley. Start anew, become a good honest cop. Are you fucking kidding me? After all that you've done, all that you've enabled me to do?! If I go down, so do you.'

'Maybe, but at least I won't feel like smashing the mirror every time I shave.'

'You don't even shave.'

'That should tell you something.'

'I'm afraid it does, it tells me you're no longer useful, in fact you've become a liability and I hate liabilities.'

The sound of a gun being cocked seemed impossibly loud in the night club's empty hall.

'I guessed you might try something like this. But I still had to do it.'

'How noble of you, not that it'll do you any good.'

A gun's muzzle was pressed against the back of a head, The gun trembled very slightly as the finger tensed on the trigger, then the lights went out.

The next moments were ones of total confusion in darkness, briefly illuminated only by the flashes of gunfire. All they were able to see was how one by one the men in the club were picked off and subdued with a sickening sound of flesh being pounded and bones breaking, which reminded everyone there of a butcher's shop. When the lights came back up two men were still conscious and another four lay sprawled amongst a wreckage of broken furniture, battered and bruised. One of them groaning weakly.

'Oh, it's you. How did you know...?' The question died in his lips. 'Stupid question, it's **you**.'

There was no reply, only a look like a steel knife from the white slits in the cowl over the cape that covered his body. He was motionless like a statue, and even in the now illuminated room it seemed like he would disappear like smoke the moment you took your eyes off him.

'Maybe, maybe you should have let them do it. It's not like nothing much would have been lost anyway.'

This time there was a reply, cold and hard that shook him to his very bones, it came on a voice that sounded like wind blowing between gravestones.

'A man trying to do the right thing would have been lost.'

There was a pause, it could have been an instant or an eternity, then the man with a cloak that seemed made of shadows spoke again.

'You should call for backup.' Then he turned and as he walked towards the door he called out. 'If you want to keep doing the right thing, speak to captain Gordon.'

'Wait! It's just... for fifteen years I've been a cop in this city, and for nearly twelve of them I've hated everything about it. Most of all I hated myself for going along with it all. But now, now you've given me, given us, a shred of hope, we can finally do the right thing in this town. We can be proud of being cops again...' He paused for a moment, weighing his next words 'I suppose, what I want to say is thank y...'

'You don't have to. Not now, nor ever.'

And with that he left and detective Doug O'Neil stood alone in the room, with the unconscious forms of his would-be killers. Slowly, he took out his Gotham City police department badge and looked at it.

Then he pinned it to his coat.

And smiled.


End file.
